Chapter XVI
The trip to Bethlehem the following day was an astonishing experience. Sitt Ermintrude and I went alone, for though I begged the others to come with me, she refused to give them countenance. Her father waved us off, charging me to take good care of his daughter and I promised to lay down my life in her defence. Hilmi laughed at this and said that laying down my life was all that I could do unless I had room to use my sling.
I was still stiff and sore from the journey of the previous day, but the morning was so pleasant that I didn't mind at all. We rode down into the valley of the tilt yard, where a crowd of Franks was already busy fighting, and then up the other side along a well-used dirt road.
"Now," said es-Sitt, riding her horse up beside mine, "I am going to teach you to speak our language. Anything you want, you must ask me in French."
"But Sitt," I protested, "I don't know any French."
She was implacable. "Je ne comprehendes pas," she said. "That means, 'I don't understand.' Say it."
We passed the whole journey in this way: she would ask me a question, first in her language and then in mine, then she would make me repeat it, then I would answer her, she would turn my answer into French and again I had to repeat it. If I did not understand something, she would explain it and she was such a good teacher that by the time we reached Bethlehem I was able to ask my first question in French.
"Que est la?" I asked, pointing to a building by the roadside.
Sitt Ermintrude laughed. "Very good, Fuad. 'What is that?' That is the tomb of Rachel the wife of Jacob and father of Joseph. Do you want to visit it?"
"Non, Sitt." I shook my head.
"All right. Let's go on. There's Bethlehem just over there."
A short time later we reached the town and rode up the hill into the square in front of a large church. The place was crowded with Frankish pilgrims and their donkeys and their guides. Men and women bustled about, hawkers yelled their wares and Nasrani mullahs in black, brown or white robes walked solemnly through the throng. We tethered our horses at a rack with many others and left them eating hay in the charge of an old man.
"Father said that you were to come with me into the church," es-Sitt told me. "You must remove your hat when you pass through the door, but apart from that there is no need for you to do anything you do not wish to do."
Although I felt nervous entering a Nasrani church, I was also bursting with curiosity to see the idols about which we had been told so often in our tents. Inside the door the church was dark and cool and smelled of sweet incense. Sitt Ermintrude told me to meet her by the door at mid-day and disappeared into the mass of people inside the building.
Left on my own, I wandered around nervously. There were plenty of idols, though only some of them were worshipped. There were flat boards on which were painted faces surrounded by black or, in some cases, by carefully carved gold or silver. Many of the pilgrims knelt in front of these boards and made curious signs on their breasts and kissed the boards before rising again.
In another place I saw idols that looked like complete people in miniature. Some of these were ignored by the pilgrims, others were worshipped just like the boards. In many places there were lighted candles and usually small piles of money, the gifts that the pilgrims had given to the idols, stood by the candles.
The most astonishing thing, however, was the huge idols high up on the walls. Many faces and bodies were crowded together against a gleaming gold background, some kneeling, some standing, some facing one way, some another. I walked close beneath them and suddenly realised that they were made of tens of thousands of tiny squares of stone of different colours and I marvelled to see how an idol could be made in this way. No one paid any attention to these idols, but I walked around the whole building, just staring at them.
At one point I came to a low wooden fence that divided one part of the building from another. The idol on the wall continued past the fence and I stood for a moment in perplexity, wondering whether the fence signified that the area beyond was haram or whether I could step over it and continue to examine the idols. I had just decided that I should climb across when a voice spoke in my ear and I jumped.
"I wouldn't, not if I were you."
I whirled around and found myself face to face with a Nasrani holy man with a shaven crown. He smiled at me.
"You're not a Christian, are you?"
"You - you speak my language!" I stammered.
"Yes, I thought it was your language," the man replied in Arabic. "Come, beyond that fence is haram, even to us Nasranis. If it became known that a Muslim had trespassed there . . ." He shrugged his shoulders and pursed his lips.
"Sidi," I protested, "I meant no harm nor any disrespect to your religion. I was looking at . . ." I guestured towards the wall.
"Hush. Be at peace." He took my arm and conducted me away from the fence and towards a door. He opened the door, which led into a brightly lit courtyard and indicated that I should go through first. I hesitated for a moment, afraid that he might be taking me into trouble, but he smiled at me and I decided to risk the venture. He led me over to a bench underneath a spreading vine and sat down.
"Now, my friend. Do not call me 'sid' for I am not a lord. You may call me 'brother' if you wish. Secondly, I know that you meant no harm, for I have been watching you for some time."
"Why, brother?" I asked.
"Because you were so obviously not a Christian," he replied.
"How could you tell?" I asked in astonishment, glancing down at my Frankish clothes. I thought I looked no different to anyone else there.
The man grinned. "No Nasrani would walk all the way round a church ignoring every statue, icon and altar, yet you did. I guessed, therefore, that you were a Muslim in disguise. I followed you to see what your purpose was - it wouldn't be the first time we have had thieves in the house of God - but again, no thief would walk past all those piles of offerings without a second glance. So tell me, what are you doing here?"
"Brother, I am in the service of es-Sid Guy d'Orleans in al-Quds. He ordered me to accompany his daughter, es-Sitt Ermintrude, who came here to pay a vow. While she is busy with her prayers, I thought no harm to see the inside of a Nasrani masjid."
"It is the first time you have been inside a church?" the man asked.
"It is."
"Well, well, well," the man said. "How simple it all is once it is
explained. So tell me, what did you think of it?"
"It is - er - very different." I chose my words carefully.
"And the idols?"
I felt my face flush. "I said no such thing," I protested.
"No, but you thought it," the man grinned. "You are not the first Muslim I have met."
I looked at him for a moment. "So, brother. Why do the Nasranis worship idols? The prophet Mohammed, on whom be peace, tells us that all idolators will be punished in the Fire. Are you not afraid of Allah?"
The man sighed. "Well, my friend . . ."
"I am Fuad ibn Hassan ibn Tallal ibn al-Hajji of the Bani Ibrim." I told him.
"And I am Brother Hildebrandt, a monk of the Franciscans," the man replied. "Well, Fuad, sometimes we Franks are too clever for our own good. We say that we do not worship the idols, only pay honour to them. If a messenger were to bring you a letter from the Sultan, is it not the custom to kiss the seal? You are not worshipping the seal, merely showing respect to the Sultan whose authority is represented by the seal. In the same way, when we kiss an icon or bow to it, we are not worshipping it but paying respect to the person whom it represents."
I thought for a moment. "I understand what you are saying, but I do not agree with it."
"Neither do I agree with it completely. I fear that a good many of the simple pilgrims do not understand the difference between honour and worship and do indeed worship the image, thus turning it into an idol."
"Islam is much better," I boasted. "We worship Allah and no other."
Brother Hildebrandt raised his eyebrows. "Tell me," he said, "do you not show respect to your holy book, al-Qur'an ash-Sharif? Do you not kiss the book? How would you react if someone were to write on its pages or deliberately tear a page out?"
I stared at him. "But the Holy Qur'an is - well, it's holy."
"So you worship a book?" Brother Hildebrandt's lips were twitching.
"Of course not! We show it respect because it comes from Allah."
"I understand what you are saying," Brother Hildebrandt nodded. "However, even if you do not agree with them, you must accept that these simple people are acting in the same way. They think that these icons and images are holy and therefore they show them respect."
I was silent for a while. I had not thought about it like this before but I could see that there was some sense in what this Nasrani was saying. I had always taken our respect for the Holy Qur'an for granted, but I could see that some foolish people might indeed think that we were worshipping the book. I decided to try another approach.
"Even if you don't worship idols, you do worship three gods," I told the priest.
"I wondered when you would get round to that," Brother Hildebrandt smiled. "Come with me, I want to show you something."
